


A Flood of Grief and Guilt

by mcgeek_olivetree



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Book 3: Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, Canonical Character Death, First War with Voldemort, Guilt, I should be writing my thesis proposal, Post-First War with Voldemort, but I couldn't get this out of my head, so here it is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-03
Updated: 2020-06-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:41:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24525556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mcgeek_olivetree/pseuds/mcgeek_olivetree
Summary: ""One day," James said softly, "you're going to have to face it--the damage you've caused, the scars you've left, the pain you've inflicted--and I hope the guilt crushes you.""After framing Sirius, Peter is forced to recognize the weight of his betrayal face-to-face.
Relationships: James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin, implied
Comments: 4
Kudos: 52





	A Flood of Grief and Guilt

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Good For You DEH-Marauders AU Animation](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/628660) by Marta_Weasley. 



Peter ran. He ran until his feet were numb with pain and exertion. He ran until the ghosts of the sirens stopped echoing in his head. He ran until his lungs caught fire and threatened to choke him with the smoke. He wasn't even aware he had stopped until he felt his legs fall out from under him, and as he hit the damp sewer ground, he realized that at some point in his flight, he had left the rat behind and caught himself with his bloody hands. 

As he crouched there, forcing air into his blazing lungs, he felt a terrible laugh bubble up in his throat as the horror of it all forced his body to react. Sirius was on his way to Azkaban. Lily and James were dead. James--the unbreakable and invincible and ever-present James--was dead. And Peter was to blame. His own fear had led him to betray everyone who had ever given him a modicum of their trust.

Well, except for Remus, but three out of four isn't bad, he thought mirthlessly as the guilt of it all fell over him and the hysterical laugh turned into a sob that wracked through him with the ferocity of ten years of friendship clawing its way out through his throat. The first brought more with it, each more violent than its predecessor, robbing what little strength he had left as he dropped his head into his hands and allowed the pain to wash over him until there was none left to release.

His friends were gone. The few people who loved him were dead or as good as it gets, and it was because of him. He had torn down his whole world, all to save his own skin that probably wasn't going to last long now that he had chosen the losing side. 

As he lay there, the memory of his Sorting forced its way to the front of his mind. He remembered that when he had sat on the wooden stool--his whole body vibrating from a mixture of fear, excitement, and sugar from the train--the Hat had been oddly quiet for several long moments before it spoke in his mind. 

"You are a rare one," it had said. "You have so much potential in here. You have a need to prove yourself that would do you well in Slytherin if you overcome your doubts. But you also have a kindness that could flourish in Hufflepuff under the right attention. Though you may not know it, you have so much untapped intelligence that could be discovered in Ravenclaw, and a fire that could set you apart in Gryffindor. The trouble is that no one outweighs the others. Where you go from here will determine what trait grows, and I can only choose by what I see now."

Peter had sat silently, holding his breath for the decision. 

After another long moment of silence, Peter had thought he heard the Hat sigh before it said, "Courage, I believe, is what you will need, and I hope that you will grow it well in Gryffindor."

"Goddamn hat," he whispered between sobs. "You chose wrong."

As a heavy silence approached him in which his blood finally stopped ringing in his ears and the sobs softened into something that wasn't going to rip him apart, a quiet voice came from the other side of his hands. 

"I'm inclined to agree." 

Peter's head shot up. In front of him stood James--the whole and warm and alive James--just waiting for him to look up.

"James!" Peter yelped as he forced himself forward, reaching desperately for proof that all wasn't lost yet. However, when his hand should have found pajama-clad flesh, there was nothing but empty air and whatever hope had possessed him hollowed him out as it abandoned him. 

"I'm sorry," was all he could whisper into the quiet that crowded around him in the dark passageway as he sat back on his heels, refusing to meet those piercing eyes. 

"You know," James said after a moment, "I would have almost believed you an hour ago."

Peter looked up again, his eyes questioning, and he was met with the steel gaze James had only ever turned on Sirius in the weeks following The Prank. 

"I don't think you meant for Lily and me to die," he continued in an oddly calm voice. "Or at least I didn't until I saw what you did to Sirius. I thought you were going to turn yourself in when he came for you. I really did. I thought that when you were forced to do it face-to-face, you wouldn't betray yet another person who had trusted you, had protected you for so long. But you did."

"I didn't mean for him to get involved," Peter argued desperately. "He wasn't supposed to come after me."

"Why wouldn't he?" James demanded in that same low, even tone. "He is the only person alive who knows that you were the Secret Keeper, that you murdered two of his friends, and we all know how Sirius is about his friends."

"But I didn't know you would die!" Peter screamed, the last word more sob than voice. He felt new warm tears trace down his face as he shook his head, his eyes pleading that James believe him, even when he didn't believe himself. "I didn't know."

James--the forgiving and kind and empathetic James--showed none of his usual levity behind his eyes as his lips pulled just a little more towards a sneer. "Yes, you did." As he spoke, he became just a little less solid, the edges of his image blurring and the light from further down the tunnel glowing through him. "You knew we would die. You knew Sirius would come after you. You knew Remus would never recover. And yet you did it anyway." 

"Remus will be okay," Peter whispered as a last stitch effort to calm the storm of grief and guilt threatening to drown him. 

"Maybe one day," James conceded with a falsely casual shrug. "But he'll never be whole again. Just like Lily and I won't. Just like Sirius won't. Just like Harry won't. Just like you won't." 

James' face finally shifted from his cold, unforgiving stare into something Peter had never seen shadow his features before: pity. "You got what you wanted, Peter. You're out of our shadows. I hope it serves you well."

Peter stared as James stepped back and began slowly walking backwards in a leisurely gait that was so painfully familiar that Peter expected to see him smirk and shove his hands in his pockets until he himself to focus on James' rapidly fading outline to remember where he was. Before he fully faded, however, James paused and said, "One day, you're going to have to face it all--the damage you've caused, the scars you've left, the pain you've inflicted--and I hope the guilt crushes you."

With a final soft grey wisp, he was gone, and Peter was again alone.

\---

Twelve years later, as he saw Remus' newly carved flesh and the skeletal form of Sirius, Peter finally understood. He felt whatever part of his old self remained cower in the face of memories he never lived: of Remus--alone and grieving--tearing himself apart during the first full moon as the wolf tried to gouge out the pain of losing its pack; of Sirius spending his twenty-second birthday alone in a cell instead of crowded by his chosen family as they had planned for weeks before; of Remus returning to the apartment he had shared with Sirius not knowing how he would pay rent, let alone live with the ghost of betrayal haunting every room; of Sirius cowering as Padfoot in the corner of a cell in an attempt to protect the few good memories he had left; of two of his best friends living with the ramifications of Peter's fear. 

But the worst moment was when Harry stood between them. Harry--the baby he had held and fed and changed and loved--looked so much like his father that for a moment, Peter only saw the Marauders. But they were not the brave and stupid boys with their lives ahead of them that they had been years ago. No, these Marauders were broken. They were torn flesh and hollowed cheeks. They were half-mad and still grieving. They were veterans of a war they had not really won. And one wasn't even there. All because of Peter and his fear. 

Peter faced it all. The damage, the scars, the pain. All of it. And the guilt did crush him. But only the part of himself he had resigned to death the day he received his Dark Mark, the last bit of Marauder in him. Peter Pettigrew had died twelve years ago, but only the part of him that could have been redeemed. 

That was why when he was given the choice between saving his friends and running, he ran. Because the Hat had been right. He had needed courage, but whatever seed it had seen in him had died with his friends.


End file.
